Interpersonal Tactics
by Clooover
Summary: One of the men in particular caught her eye. Despite herself, Robin stared, intrigued. Series of planned one-shots.


The coliseum was impressive, as Robin expected.

As Chrom directed the Shepherds into formation, she took the opportunity to marvel openly at the architecture under the safety of her hood. What the seat of Regna Ferox lacked in intricate finery it more than made up for in sheer, stone-cut grandeur; the walls themselves were built of monoliths nearly more boulder than enormous brick, rough-hewn to withstand the climate and culture signature to that of the Feroxi.

Above them, in the arena's raised gallery (another impressive feat of masonry), the audience had already made themselves comfortable - the Shepherds themselves had been ushered onto the field on a drumroll and a wave of thunderous cheers. The noise had since died down, but the constant murmur remained.

The atmosphere differed from their usual ordeal - a crowd where there would have been empty fields, noncombatants exchanging money where they would (preferably) have fled the scene hours back - but at least tonight, she wouldn't have to worry about any real casualties. For once the path to the desired end was not measured in broken bodies.

She returned her attention to the Shepherds, already feeling impatient - and snorted. Vaike, at least, seemed to be doing just fine with the extra attention that the arena afforded. At least Virion was making an attempt at composure, if only to appear less shallow than Vaike. Miriel simply ignored them both. Chrom was either lost in thought, or listening very intently to some impromptu counsel from Frederick. One could never tell with that man.

Robin raised her eyes to the gallery.

Khan Flavia hadn't moved from her position since she'd arrived. The only change in stance had been a few minutes back when she uncrossed her arms to lean against the banister, the better to watch the Shepherds below. Robin understood her position well. This was a battle that Flavia had often lost, so she was loath to express hope before the victory was safely in hand and so distracted herself by focusing on inane details. The state of the soldiers. The allotment of weapons. The position of troops. She'd been watching the Shepherds with a hawk's eye ever since they'd stepped foot on the coliseum grounds. She hoped that the fact that Chrom did not exhibit this behavior now meant that he was more confident in them than their host.

The East-Khan's gaze was elsewhere now, though. Robin let her eyes wander the perimeter of the gallery, until eventually she lit upon another individual: none other than the West-Khan, Khan Basilio, a large man in warrior garb with an evidently even larger personality. The latter characteristic coupled with the respect that shone in the other mens' eyes completely gave the reigning Khan away.

One of the men in particular caught her eye. Despite herself, Robin stared, intrigued.

A mage? No, too built - a bodyguard, more likely. The Feroxi did not revere magic nearly as zealously as they did the blade. But Basilio regarded him too casually, too fondly, for him to be simple hired muscle. Maybe that was the West-Khan's personality... the longer she watched the men, the more likely this seemed to be the case. Perhaps the stranger was a mercenary after all. From what she had heard, Ferox had no shortage of gold in the royal coffers and many an enemy to keep off their lands - it would certainly be in their interests to retain any skilled swordsmen that wandered through.

The Khans eventually caught sight of each other and proceeded to share a series of (rather crude) gestures over her - and her comrades' - heads. Flavia, in particular, appeared incensed that Basilio had snuck in under her nose. The foreign entity stepped back to allow the exchange, effectively removing him from her sight.

Robin lowered her gaze. Clearly she'd have to educate herself more extensively about the world once the Shepherds could return to Ylisstol. There was still too much she didn't know, both about the halidom she served and the nations that it dealt with; perhaps the Ylissean Council could be convinced, if they succeeded in this campaign, to let her access the royal library. As Chrom's tactician she was certain she could ask for at least that much -

There was a sudden roll of percussion, followed shortly by an uproar from the crowd - even louder than the one that had greeted the Shepherds' arrival.

Finally.

Casting a final glance over the field, she turned to join her comrades.

In theory, the plan was simple: if Marth had usurped the former champion as recently as Khan Flavia claimed, it meant that his teammates would not yet be used to fighting alongside him. Chrom could exploit that weakness to his advantage once she and Miriel eliminated the enemy mages and Virion picked off the stragglers behind Vaike's brute offense. Frederick would hold the rear, leaving Chrom with ample opportunity to duel the champion one-on-one. Simple.

She slipped a tome out from one of her utility pockets, marking the next usable page. It was the last of the books she'd had on her person when Chrom recruited her; this Thunder tome in particular had served her well. Now, it was nearing its inevitable expiration. Better to let it go memorably than leave it to gather dust, without purpose.

"Robin." Chrom appeared at her side from apparently nowhere. Silently, she chastised herself. Now was not the time to be sentimental.

_Focus._

"Right," she replied, nodding once. The prince smiled, clasping her shoulder briefly with a reassuring hand before taking his place at the frontline - as the battle loomed imminent she could see he was already falling naturally into the role of Captain, donning the rank as easily as if stepping into a pair of well-worn boots.

Robin smiled. The architecture of Regna Ferox was impressive, but Chrom leading the Shepherds was honestly a sight to behold.

They stood at attention, ready and waiting for the signal - the Shepherds watched as one as the procession of warriors filed into the other end of the arena and assumed their own formation, centered and led by none other than Marth himself.

The battle, as straightforward as she predicted it would be, turned out to be a long one nevertheless.

By the time the two Falchions finally met, the foreigner in the gallery had all but slipped from Robin's mind.

* * *

He wasn't a mercenary after all.

Basilio introduced him as a present, celebrating their victory and strength - a sentiment that Chrom clearly had some difficulty accepting - but he was honestly better met as the former Champion of Regna Ferox, Lon'qu. Frederick the Wary wasted no time appraising him from head to toe, doing a poor job of hiding it - but Robin simply regarded him politely. He was a Shepherd now; besides, what really mattered was his swordsmanship, and there would be time later to assess that ability.

Lon'qu pointedly avoided her gaze, staring straight ahead at Chrom - or perhaps the wall behind him. Maybe he'd caught her staring at him before the battle, Robin realized. Well, that certainly made things awkward.

Funnily enough, Lissa was completely enamored by him. After witnessing her interest in Marth, however, it wasn't really all that surprising. At least with this one she actually had a chance at making actual conversation -

"Get back!"

- well, nevermind.

Robin only started at the sound of his voice, blindsided by a baritone on par with Basilio's coming out of the significantly leaner man - but Lissa all but actually jumped, temporarily broken out of her admiration for their newest recruit out of simple fright. On the other hand, Lon'qu looked almost as stricken as Lissa herself, if not more. Chrom, ever the vigilant brother, shot him a look halfway between alarm and confusion, then turned that look on Basilio. The latter simply laughed.

"Wh- what did I say?" Lissa asked, wide-eyed; warily, Robin drew her away from the swordsman before the situation could devolve further. Her caution turned out to be unnecessary, however.

"Let's just say ladies tend to put Lon'qu on edge," Basilio guffawed unhelpfully, clamping what was probably supposed to be a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder with enough force to make him stumble a fraction. Lon'qu simply clamped his lips shut, resigning himself to the situation even as the blood rose in his face; to say he looked uncomfortable would have been putting it lightly. Oblivious to or purposefully ignoring his ex-champion's plight, Basilio simply plowed on. "Nonetheless, he's capable. Perhaps he even has the makings of a khan."

Robin did not miss the way Lon'qu's eyes flickered briefly toward Basilio at this.

Apparently, neither did Basilio. He released Lon'qu's shoulder with a fatherly pat - a stark contrast to the brusque movement he'd subjected him to only moments back - and spread his hands in a genuine gesture of goodwill. "Consider him West Ferox's contribution to the Ylissean cause."

"You're certain about this?" Chrom asked, only a beat still hesitant. He still didn't appear comfortable with the idea of being gifted with a person, of all things, though as an emissary of Ylisse he was hard pressed to reject Basilio's offer. And the Shepherds could always find uses for a skilled unit...

The Khan dismissed Chrom's apparent discomfort with a flap of his hand. "Yes, yes," Basilio said. "He's your man now. Alright?"

"And Lon'qu? You have no objections?"

He responded without hesitance. "He gives orders. I stab people. I think our roles are clear."

The words were measured, methodical in delivery. There was a lilt to them that was frankly quite foreign to her - though it wasn't saying much, seeing as how much of Ylissean culture was still completely strange even after all these weeks.

Abruptly, Robin recalled that a few hours earlier she had been determined to ask for library privileges back in Ylisstol.

"...Alright, then." Chrom relented. "Welcome aboard."

Lon'qu simply inclined his head in response.


End file.
